


Thorongil in the Mark

by Eldanuumea



Series: The Young Aragorn Series [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 23:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldanuumea/pseuds/Eldanuumea
Summary: A glimpse of Aragorn's time in Rohan as Thorongil





	Thorongil in the Mark

**Author's Note:**

> Aragorn served King Thengel of Rohan under the name "Thorongil." At the time of this story, Thengel's only son, Théoden, is eighteen years old and probably just starting to ride with the Rohirrim. His youngest sister, Théodwyn, is three; she will later marry Éomund and become mother of Éomer and Éowyn. Éomund's sister Elfhild will later marry Théoden. During this time, the Mark was under constant attack by both Uruks and Dunlendings out of the Misty Mountains and lands just to the west. The Uruks in this story were probably sent by Sauron, who was systematically harrassing Rohan to draw its attention from helping Gondor.

**2966**

“Éomund, give her the horse! There now, be a good boy and let her have it,” said the young woman, sitting on a grassy slope near the King’s orchard. She beckoned to the small boy who was running toward her with a wooden horse clutched tightly in his hand. Near her sat a very little girl rubbing her eyes and sniffling every few seconds.

The boy stopped in front of the crying girl and crouched down to hand her the toy horse. She stopped crying and snatched it from him. Holding it close, she stood up and ran down the slope, waving the horse up and down and making whinnying noises.

“Bring it back!” shouted the indignant boy. Here he was, trying to share his toy with this crybaby only to have her run off with it herself. “Elfhild, make her bring it back here,” he said, tugging at her arm and trying to pull her up to her feet.

“You have other horses to play with, Éomund,” she said and pointed to a basket full of wooden toys not far from where she was sitting.

Elfhild had spent all morning trying to get her brother and Théodwyn to play together peacefully. Somehow she had been left to keep watch on them by herself while the little girl’s older sisters were off waiting for the riders of the Mark to return.

She knew they were waiting to catch a glimpse of Thorongil, the dark-haired Ranger who had ridden with the Éorlingas ever since she could remember. Talien and Erewyn were both captivated by his deep grey eyes and quiet reserve. As far as Elfhild could tell, Thorongil hardly even knew the two existed. She had never seen him show any interest in their flirtations, but this had never discouraged them.

Riding home with Thorongil would be the young man she was anxious to see – Théoden, son of the King of the Mark. He had finally received Thengel’s permission to ride with the Muster. Uruks out of Derndingle had been raiding villages along the Entwash and the King had sent help.

Elfhild’s father, a good friend of the King, had joined in the campaign to rid the river villages of these dark troublemakers from the mountains. She and her brother Éomund and her mother Éofren had come to spend time with Queen Morwen and her daughters while the men were out fighting.

A horn sounded in the distance and soon she could see riders coming over the hill toward the stables in back of Meduseld. The King and her father rode in the front, with Thorongil just behind. She stood up to get a clearer view of the horsemen and spotted a familiar roan. Shading her eyes against the sun’s glare, she saw that it was ridden by Théoden. His long, straw-colored hair hung in a tight braid beneath his helmet, and his mail shone brightly in the sun.

She lost sight of the men as they neared the stables, but she could hear their voices celebrating in victory. There would surely be a great feast tonight in the golden-roofed hall. Elfhild hoped that Théoden would find time to speak to her. He was so pleased to have the chance at last to be in a real battle that he had hardly noticed her when she arrived in Edoras.

He was especially pleased to be riding alongside his idol, Thorongil. The Ranger had been training him in the use of the bow while riding at great speed. He was everything Théoden longed to be. He was skillful in weaponry, unafraid of facing the fiercest enemies, and respected by his fellow riders.

“Why does he always wear a silver star?” she had asked Théoden just a few days before the riders had left to fight the Uruks.

“That star is the emblem of a Ranger,” he had told her. “Father says the Rangers come from an ancient line of kings, but now they are mostly wanderers in the Wild.”

“What is he doing in the Mark? Why did he come here?”

“I was only a boy when he came, but I remember he came with Gandalf.”

“Who is Gandalf?”

“The Grey Wizard . . . haven’t you ever heard of Gandalf? He visits father every few years, and nine years ago he brought Thorongil with him. I think the wizard meant him to help us protect our borders.”

Ever since she had known Théoden, he had looked up to the quiet Ranger. The men of the Mark admired warriors who showed their worth through deeds rather than words. This certainly described Thorongil, who spoke very little but fought fiercely. She wondered what tales Théoden would have to tell about his first battle experience at the side of the man he considered his mentor. At tonight’s feast, she would be sure to be a server at his table so she could hear the stories of victory.

  
**II**

“Did you see that great Uruk ride up behind your son, the one with the feathers on his helm?” asked Fréoden.

Thengel, King of the Mark, beamed proudly at Théoden, who was seated across from him next to his guest from the Eastenmet.

“Yes, I did, and I saw how he turned to face his enemy without flinching! And many thanks to you, Thorongil, for helping him finish the job,” said the King as he looked across the room to a man standing near the great stone hearth, alone and quiet as usual.

Thorongil saluted the King and his guests and nodded to acknowledge his master’s praise. Unlike most of the other men at the feast, who were clad in shining mail, the Ranger wore his grey cloak with the star clasp. He smiled and raised his cup in a toast to the bravery of the Éorlingas, then turned to stare into the fire, sipping pensively at his wine.

Fréoden frowned in puzzlement at Thorongil’s reserve; it was in such contrast to the raucous laughter and speech of the rest of the company.

“Is he always this quiet after a battle?” he asked Théoden.

“Especially after a battle,” the King replied. “Before he rides into a fray, his eyes are fixed on the enemy. He looks neither to the right or to the left, and is not drawn into frivolous conversation. In the heat of battle, he does not stop to draw breath but cuts his foes down, one after the other. Why, I have seen him bring down as many as twenty in the space of a few minutes.”

“I saw him do as much myself, only three days ago,” added Théoden. We were trapped between Throed’s Hill and the Entwash, and I feared we were lost. But Thorongil and some of my father’s éored came riding over the bluffs like the wind. Standing at my back, he brought down at least ten of the Uruks with his sword alone. Then he shot another five or six with his bow before they could climb back on their horses.”

As the men talked, women moved among them, making sure their cups were kept full and the platters in the center of each table kept heaped with roasted meat and fowl. Théoden watched Elfhild make her way among the tables and tried to catch her eye. She filled the cups of the men sitting in back of him, and then turned to the King’s table. As she poured the dark, rich wine for her father, she glanced at Théoden and blushed when she saw how intensely he returned her gaze.

He extended his cup and, as she poured, said softly, “You are lovely tonight, Elfhild..The green of your robe favors your eyes.”

Her blush deepened and her hazel eyes were bright as she looked at him with an expression of pride mingled with deep affection.

“And you look very brave and important in your shiny mail, newest rider of the Riddermark!” she replied, smiling. As she poured his wine, their fingers touched lightly.

She continued on to serve the rest of the table and he followed her with his eyes. _One day she will be my wife – my queen_ , he thought. Then he turned and looked over at the fire where Thorongil still stood. _One day I will be like him, and men will be in awe of my courage and skill. I will be King of the Mark, and I will surround myself with men like him. In that day, the Éorlingas will be invincible._

  
After the feasting had continued for a while longer, Thengel arose and called the room to attention.

“Friends, guests, brave soldiers of the Riddermark, tonight we celebrate our victory. The villagers of Throed will sleep more soundly tonight. But some among our people will find sorrow in sleep rather than dreams. Let us pause a while and think of the families of Medufil and Thordred.”

A deep hush covered the room, and heads were bowed, as everyone remembered the valor of the fallen. Thordred had been hewed down by three huge Uruks, who were in turn killed by Thengel himself with the help of several from his éored. The other man had been brought down the day before when an Uruk’s arrow pierced his heart. Théoden remembered how Medufil had managed to bring down two more of the enemy before finally falling to the ground. Both warriors would be sadly missed.

After a time of silence, Thengel toasted his men again and everyone went back to their feasting and conversation. Théoden rose and walked over to the hearth to speak to Thorongil. The Ranger had sunk to one knee and was lazily poking the glowing embers, watching sparks fly up. He turned to the young man, smiled, and gestured to him to kneel by his side.

“You fought bravely, Théoden. Your father is fiercely proud of you tonight. And I, too, am proud of your quickness to learn.”

Théoden reddened at this praise, but inwardly he was thrilled with his mentor’s assessment. His father had been hesitant to allow him to ride with the Éorlingas on this mission at his age and with no prior experience in battle, but Thorongil had vouched for the young man’s skill and steadiness.

“You seem sad tonight, sir. What is on your mind to make you so melancholy in the midst of our celebration?”

“I am not really sad, Théoden, but there is much on my mind,” he answered. “It is long since any news from my country has found its way south, and I worry about my family, my home.”

They both stood and the older man wrapped an arm around the younger’s shoulder.

“Don’t let my mood keep you from tonight’s joy. If I am not mistaken, a pretty maiden across the room would very much like to hear of your adventures.”

Théoden looked where Thorongil was pointing and saw Elfhild in the midst of his sisters, who were talking and staring in their direction. When his sisters realized Thorongil was pointing toward them, they giggled and whispered together. Elfhild moved a little away from them and smiled at Théoden. With a little push from Thorongil, Théoden started across the room to meet her.

  
**III**

The morning sun beat down upon Thorongil’s head as he walked his horse around the paddock in back of the King’s stable. During the long ride home from Throed, Rafhorn had begun to favor one of her legs. The horse’s limp was so slight it was almost unnoticeable, but he knew the leg needed attention. He had risen very early and eaten a light breakfast, then had immediately gone to check on his cream-colored mare.

When he reached the stable, all was quiet and the only sounds were the gentle nickering of horses and the chatter of birds nesting in the rafters. No one else was around; Thorongil suspected everyone had slept late after last night’s feast, which had continued into the early hours of the morning. He was glad to find he was alone with the horses, for he had much to think about and the peace and quiet were very welcome after weeks of long travel and heavy fighting.

He massaged a salve he had prepared into Rafhorn’s leg and was now walking the horse slowly so the heat of the mild exercise could help soothe her strained muscles. She was his favorite horse, and one of the thoughts crowding his mind was that he might have to leave her behind when he left Rohan.

Thorongil had spent the last nine years in Thengel’s service. In that time, he had become an expert rider and had fought in many border skirmishes. This last campaign against the fierce Uruks had been unusually long and difficult.

He had developed a real affection for the King’s son. Only a boy when Thorongil had arrived in Rohan, Théoden had grown into a young man of good character, possessed of all the qualities he needed to become a good leader one day. He reminded the Ranger of himself in many ways. Théoden was quick to learn and willing to submit to those in authority over him. He had good control of his temper, which helped him remain clear-headed in the midst of a fight. But there was one thing Théoden possessed which Thorongil envied – his father, alive and well and able to spend time with his son.

Gilraen had done her best by her son and Elrond had always treated Aragorn like one of his own children, but he missed his real father. Arathorn had died before his son was of an age to kmow him, and Aragorn felt something important was missing in his life. He had confessed as much to Gandalf during their journey south from Imladris.

“Think of all who are there for you,” the wizard had said. “You mean so much to so many. You are the last hope of your kinsmen, and all who dwell in Imladris are your friends. What more do you need?”

Aragorn had shaken his head sadly and replied, “Gandalf, I am grateful to all of these you have mentioned, but I still would wish to have known Arathorn. I wish I could have spoken to him, learned from him, spent time with him. But that seems not to have been my destiny.”

“Arathorn is alive in you, Aragorn,” said the wizard. “His heart, his mind, his strength all live inside of you. We cannot change many things that mark our days, but we can choose how we will face them. Whatever you become, I know Arathorn would have been proud to be named your father.”

At these words, tears had welled up in Aragorn’s eyes, for the desire of his heart was to feel worthy of his father and of his people. The memory of those words had brought him comfort many times since that day.

Rafhorn nuzzled Thorongil’s neck, bringing him back to the present. He stroked the horse’s back and ran his fingers through her long, silky mane. Thengel had given Rafhorn to him as a present two years before, in return for Thorongil’s tutelage of Théoden. He wondered if he would be permitted to take her with him if he left Rohan.

Of course, the King had always been generous with him. When he and Gandalf had arrived in Edoras many years before, Thengel had never questioned the wizard’s request that the young Ranger from Eriador be allowed to ride with the Rohirrim. He had even taken Thorongil into his household for the first few months, until it became certain he would be remaining for a long time.

Thengel had never intruded on his privacy. He understood that his new rider was of the race of Gondor. Gandalf’s interest in the young man suggested some importance, and that was sufficient for Thengel. He had taken Thorongil under his wing and made sure he rode with the finest men in the Mark.

But now Thorongil felt the time had come to look further south. He could not put off the call of Gondor to his soul much longer. Théoden was of an age to assume greater responsibility, to take his rightful place alongside his father. The King’s son should look up to his father, not a member of his éored. Yes, he had been in Rohan long enough.

“I knew I would find you here,” said a deep voice behind him. He turned to see the King entering the paddock.

“You are up early, Lord,” Thorongil said. “Don’t you think you deserve a better rest after these past few weeks?”

“The sun is high enough for me!” laughed Thengel. “How is the leg?”

“She will be fine. I think it is only a strained muscle, nothing very serious. She’ll be ready to ride again in a few days.”

Thorongil led the horse through the paddock gate into the stable and over to her stall, which had a floor full of fresh, sweet hay waiting for her to nibble. After securing her stall, he turned to his master and asked, “May I walk with you, Lord? There is a matter of importance that I must speak about with you.”

“Certainly,” answered Thengel. “Come with me back up to the hall, for we will have privacy there. Everyone else is still asleep!”

The two men made their way to the large room in the center of the Muster’s main barrack and sat across from one another at a long table. Usually busy at this hour of the morning, the room was indeed empty. Thorongil looked upon the King, who had welcomed and supported him through all his years in Rohan. He loved Thengel and was loathe to say what needed to be said. The King saw his troubled hesitation and spoke first.

“My friend, I can see you are wondering how to say what it is you have to tell me,” he said kindly. “But I think I may already know what is worrying you. Your time with us is drawing to a close, and you must continue on your journey.”

Thorongil looked at the man across the table in surprise.

“You are indeed wise, my Lord. You know my mind before I have to reveal it.”

“When Gandalf brought you to me that winter, he told me you would be with us for a time, but the Mark was not to be your permanent home. I understand that you are preparing yourself for some task, and that I was chosen to help you along the way.”

“But how did you guess that now was the time for me to move on?”

Thengel smiled and replied, “Because Théoden is a man now. Haven’t you remained this long to see him reach this point?”

The Ranger was amazed at the older man’s deep insight.

“I can see there will be few secrets kept from you, Lord! But do you know how it hurts me to think of leaving you and your son?”

“Do you know how much it will hurt Théoden to see you leave?”

Thorongil dropped his eyes and stared at the table. Neither man spoke for a minute, and then Thengel broke the silence.

“A message came for you from Gondor,” he said. “Just as we were preparing to leave for Throed, I received word from Gandalf.”

Thorongil looked up expectantly and waited for the King to continue.

“The wizard wrote that he would be waiting for you in Minas Tirith. He asked me to release you from my service and to provide an escort for you to Gondor. I did not tell you then because of the approaching battle.”

Thorongil shook his head in wonder at this news. Gandalf had a way of showing up just when he most needed him.

“Lord, what would you have me do? When would it be convenient for me to go?” asked Thorongil.

“You must go to Gandalf as soon as you can prepare to travel. I will gladly provide riders to accompany you to the White City, but I ask one thing,” replied the King. “I want you to allow Théoden to be one of your fellow travelers. He has never seen Minas Tirith, and it would be a chance for him to have your company a while longer.”

Thorongil gladly accepted Thengel’s suggestion and the two left the hall and went up together to the King’s home to break the news to Théoden.

  
**IV**

The day of Thorongil’s departure for Gondor came all too soon for Théoden. His father had explained the need for the Ranger to go to Gandalf. The only thing that softened the hurt of losing his mentor was his father’s suggestion that he travel with Thorongil and his escort. The young man was eager to see the famed White City where his father and mother had once lived.

Théoden had never gone so far from home. The company would ride the seventy miles due east to the hold of Fréoden in the Eastenmet, at the joining of the Entwash and Snowbourne. Then they would head south to the Great West Road that skirted the northern edge of the mountains – another sixty miles at least. From that point to Minas Tirith would be about two hundred miles more. It would be at least three weeks, maybe longer, before Théoden again saw the golden roof of Meduseld glinting on its hilltop.

The company would be quite large at first, for Fréoden had brought several of his best warriors with him for the fight against the Uruks, in addition to his family. As everyone gathered in travel formation to make ready for departure, Queen Morwen stepped up to Rafhorn’s side and reached for her son’s hand. He could see she was struggling to appear calm so as not to embarrass him before the men. He bent to kiss her hand, realizing what the effort cost her, then raised her hand to his cheek.

As he straightened up, he saw Talien and Erewyn just in front, bidding very tearful farewells to Thorongil. The Ranger looked very uncomfortable as he bent rather stiffly to kiss each girl’s proffered hand. Morwen, seeing his discomfiture, stepped over and gently pulled them back, much to his relief.

Théoden turned and looked for Fréoden’s family. They would be riding closer to the rear, with Éofren and Éomund in a palfrey and Elfhild riding at their side. He searched over the heads of the men around him until he caught sight of her looking his way. She raised her hand and smiled brightly, and he waved in return, thinking to himself that he would later ask her father for permission to ride beside her.

Turning around again, he noticed his father at Thorongil’s side. They were talking with grave expressions and the Ranger nodded several times as the King spoke. Théoden knew his father regretted the loss of not only Thorongil’s exceeding skills in battle, but also his friendship. If anyone in Rohan had become close to the quiet Ranger, it was Thengel. The young man watched as they gripped each other’s arms in farewell.

His father walked over to him and said, “Be sure to help Thorongil keep watch as you travel. The road should be secure, but we have been surprised before.” The young man reached for his father’s hand – then, on sudden impulse, he dismounted and embraced Thengel. Taken by surprise at his son’s sudden show of affection, the King returned the embrace, fighting back unexpected tears.

Théoden stepped back sheepishly and remounted Rafhorn. Thengel turned and signaled to the leaders of the escort. The clear sound of horns echoed across the plain and the company set out.

Thorongil did not look back. His face was set eastward, as he wondered what lay in store for him in the city built by his ancestors.


End file.
